


Wait for me to come home

by Mont_Girl_Of_Lumatere



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Banter, Bathtubs, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, Reunions, Romance, Sickness, Slow Dancing, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mont_Girl_Of_Lumatere/pseuds/Mont_Girl_Of_Lumatere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fíli bent into a sweeping bow, taking Sigrid's hand as he did and pressing it to his lips. "I do believe the Lady of Dale promised me a dance."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wait for me...

The Feast of Victory had been a joyous occasion to mark the passing of the fifth year since the battle. In previous years when the loss had been too fresh in their hearts it had been a sombre affair, but this night was different. This had been a night for honouring all that had fought to defend and that meant bountiful food, barrels of Dorwinion wine, music, and naturally; dancing.

The dwarves began the songs and what lively melodies they were, meant for one to lose their breath as they stomped their feet and twirled about. The younger sons and daughters of men had been next to take up the dance, fumbling and laughing as they attempted to match the vigour of the dwarves. However the tables were turned when the songs changed and soon it was the dwarves’ turn to match steps with their allies. But as the night wore on and spirits grew merrier, steps and formations were abandoned for the simple pleasure of moving to a melody and the beat of one's own soul.

The Crown Prince of Erebor had been amongst the most energetic of the dancers, he and his brother drawing much admiration for their skill and willingness to attempt the dances of men. But more than that, the vitality and amity exuded by the princes had a way of bolstering hope in all who saw them.

The Lady of Dale had hung back on the periphery of the dancing, endeavouring to draw the somewhat standoffish Woodland Elves into the celebration through conversation. This she conquered with such intelligence and wisdom beyond her years that soon many elves with whom she spoke were as captivated by this daughter of man as she was by them.

Anyone who saw the stolen glances between the Lady of Dale and the Crown Prince of Erebor would not have suspected the affection that had grown between them over the recent years, they hid it well. It was a quiet love; a love felt in the smallest of moments and in the silence between words, but for that it was no less fierce.

 

The square had begun to empty as all succumbed either to the Dorwinion wine or to the lullaby of the clear night sky above. Bofur's fiddle had long since ceased its melody when its tipsy master tumbled backward off the platform, decided that the ground was as good a place as any to spend the night and promptly fell asleep.

Slowly those who could walk returned to their quarters, singing loudly as they went so that the words echoed through the streets of Dale and carried back towards the lantern lit Square. Fíli assisted those who could not stand to their feet despite certainly having played his part in the draining of the ale. Across the square Sigrid shooed away the kitchen assistants by insisting that the evening ought not to be spoiled by duties, however as soon as they were out of sight she began the task herself so that they would have less to do in the morning.

After one final effort Fíli gave up attempting to haul Bofur to his feet and looked up to see that only himself, Sigrid, and a snoring Bofur remained in the Square.

As she moved along the great carven tables piling dishes so they might be easily transported to the kitchens later, Sigrid felt a curious tingling on the back of her neck. She smiled to herself knowing whose eyes they were but didn't yet turn around.

       "You know," Fíli called from across the square. "there are faster ways to do that."

       "So I've heard. But frankly I would rather that knifes stayed sharp and that the forks were kept straight." She called over her shoulder, grinning to herself.

       "You doubt me, my Lady?" Fíli challenged.

       Sigrid turned to face him, hands on hips but a roguish grin in place. "Oh I have every faith in you, Prince. Just not when I would need a third hand to count the number of times you had your tankard refilled."

       Fíli crossed his arms acting affronted. "You underestimate my constitution; I'm not drunk, you’re just a tad blurry.” It was true that the flickering light of the lanterns and the warmth of the ale and wine he’d consumed made Sigrid appear to glow and at the edges. The light catching at a ruby pendant she wore and the way the firelight looked as it danced off of her hair gave him the distinct impression that she wore a crown of golden stars atop her head.

Sigrid strode across the square and Fíli had to blink once or twice to refocus his eyes.

       "Prove it." She said when she stood before him, and her breath was a more potent lure than any drink he had ever tasted.

       “As you wish.” Fíli bent into a sweeping bow, taking Sigrid's hand as he did and pressing it to his lips. "I do believe the Lady of Dale promised me a dance."

       Sigrid raised an eyebrow at him. "I may have, but we can't very well dance when there's no music."

       "This dance doesn't require a song," Fíli said as he led her by the hand towards the centre of the square. "Only a partner."

       "Very well then, but first…" And she kicked off her shoes, shivering at the sensation of the cold stone on her feet.

Fíli grinned; they were almost the same height now.

 

As they reached the middle of the square he released her hand, stepping backwards so that they stood opposite each other, their breath meeting in the space between them.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, not just laid eyes upon her but truly seen her. She had been amongst the first to walk the battlefield in search of survivors, dwarf, elves, and men alike she had tended to them. That was when he first saw her; hands soaked in blood and her face worn from endless cares, but her eyes radiating with spirit and life. Fire might have been the tool of Dale's destruction but it was the fire in the eyes of the survivors that rebuilt it, and she had been their spark. That was when he truly saw her.

Fíli reached out a hand his palm flat at the height of her shoulder, her hand met his halfway and then they were dancing. Slowly they circled each other with their entwined hands linking them at centre.

Looking into his eyes now she could barely remember the first time she had truly seen him as he clutched the hand of his ailing brother. What she did remember was that he had been the first to arrive from Erebor to offer assistance after the battle. That he was the first to stand beside the men of Dale and place rubble on rubble until it again became a wall. That he was the first to tell her that her grief for her people was not a burden to be born alone. And that he was the first person who made her feel weightless when she carried her worries on her shoulders, beautiful when she felt broken inside.

They stepped backwards once more and then closer together, his hand at the small of her back, hers at his shoulder.

       "There is something I have to tell you." Fíli murmured as they moved together in small circles.

       "Is it something good or something bad?” she enquired curiously.

       Fíli considered. “It’s- well it’s not bad in itself, however the consequences are less than desirable.”

       “Then maybe you shouldn’t tell me." Sigrid said decisively, leaning forward so that her head rested on his shoulder.

       Fíli chuckled at her but then sighed. "I wouldn't tell you unless I had to. I would that we never had to move beyond this moment; our hands never parted and time forever frozen still."

       Sigrid pulled her head back and met his eyes, reading the truth in them before he spoke it. "You're leaving."

       Fíli nodded sadly. "I am to return to Ered Luin the day after next...I will be gone for almost a year."

Sigrid was silent as they continued to dance; their feet moving them about the square although their thoughts had carried them further still.

       “I would ask you to come with me and I know that you would say yes.” Fíli said softly. “But I also know that in your heart you would feel your need here, with your people and with your family.”

       Sigrid nodded, he did know her and that only made the pain worse. "We always knew we would be parted whether by the will of others or distance, I guess now we have to face it." she sighed.

       Fíli stopped dancing. "Sigrid." He placed both hands on her shoulder so that he peered into her face. "You cannot believe that?"

       "Fíli,” she wrung her hands. “you are a servant to your kingdom as I am to mine, and..."

       "I'm a Dwarf?" He suggested.

       "Fíli, you know that's never concerned me before. What I'm saying is that you are a prince of Erebor; you have a duty to ensure that your line is never broken or tainted. I cannot be a part of that destiny." And she looked so sad as she said it, so utterly heartbroken that it pained him like a physical wound to see.

       He reached out a hand to caress her check and she leant into it, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. "I will not be a servant to a destiny without you, my love." he whispered leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. "I believe that everything we are dreaming of can soon be ours if we fight for it. All that I ask is that you wait for me; wait for me to come home."

       Sigrid nodded earnestly, smiling as hot tears welled up in her eyes. "Always."

       Fíli pulled her into his arms, holding her closer at the thought of ever having to let go and felt his own eyes grow warm. "A year is an awfully long time." He murmured.

       Sigrid released his hand and reached up to unclasp the ruby pendant that hung from her neck. She pressed it into his surprised hand. "Wear it." She insisted.

       "Sigrid I can't accept-"

       She wrapped her fingers around his, closing them so that they held the pendant tight. "So you can keep me, next to your heartbeat where I should be, and I won't ever let you go."

       Fíli smiled and lifted the pendant around his neck. He tucked it beneath his robes, and it rested against his chest, still warm from resting against her skin. He looked up at her, her eyes blazing as they searched his own. "I'm afraid I have nothing for you to remember me by." He said apologetically.

       She took his hands in hers and placed them again at her waist, feeling their warmth through the fabric of her dress. "Memories are all I need."

       "Something like this?" Fíli twirled her on the spot, mesmerised by the way the fabrics of her skirt swirled about her, although the drinks he had consumed might have contributed to it.

       Sigrid laughed as she twirled her, feeling the pins in her hair loosen. "Something like that." She agreed, chuckling.

       "Nay," Fíli shook his head. "Such a precious gift warrants something more in return." And he took her by the waist, lifting her easily up into the air as the continued to turn on the spot.

In that moment it was as if time did stand still and Sigrid threw her head back in exultance, feeling her hair tumble free and cascade down her back. Fíli held her as if she were a butterfly between his fingers and she did not doubt for an instant that he might let her fall.

He looked up at the women who kept his heart and knew right then that the first thing he would do upon his return would be to make their love known to all and ask her to be his wife. He knew they would face many obstacles and that many would oppose their love, but here and now nothing felt so right as to be forever by her side. 

As Fíli lowered her slowly back down towards the ground Sigrid placed her hands on either side of his face and captured his mouth in hers.

       "When you're away." She murmured into his lips. "I will remember how you kissed me under the lanterns in the streets and I won’t ever let you go. I'll wait for you to come home.”


	2. ...To Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set approximately three years after the first chapter and two years after Fíli returned from Ered Luin. In this chapter their parting was very different from the first. So while it is not a direct continuation of Part 1 it follows the same idea.

Sigrid heard the sound of the trumpets of Erebor and knew that Fíli had returned.

                “My queen.” Dara said, and there was a hint of reprimand in her lady’s-maid’s voice. “You know it is best to come out to the parapet. They’re approaching… and he’s sneezing.”

Fíli and Sigrid had observed a ritual ever since she moved into the Mountain following their wedding, although in truth it began the day he was expected back from Ered Luin. She would wait upon the parapet to welcome him if he had been away for more than a day or two. He said it was the first thing he looked for. It meant he was truly home. 

Sigrid finished the political document she was drafting on behalf of her father and put down her pen before following Dara from her chamber to the entrance of the Mountain.

And there he was and her heart pounded. All these years and her heart still pounded at the sight of him. She had felt it that day almost eight years past when the bedraggled company of Thorin Oakenshield were smuggled into her Laketown home through the toilet. Her heart had beat even harder the year after the fifth Feast of Victory when he returned from Ered Luin. When he marched through the gates of Dale still clad in his traveling clothes, captured her waiting mouth in his and asked her to be his wife.

Today she watched him hunched over his horse, sneezing into the handkerchief Bilbo had given him.

                “He looks quite ill,” Dara said. “He’s always so…needy when he’s ill.”

                “Pitifully so.”

                “It’s a trait of the dwarves, I’m afraid; Aulëforged them brave and strong, but alas we are less so when at the mercy of illness, particularly the males.” Dara said. She was a dwarf herself and was the best authority to say so.

                Sigrid sighed. “But I think he sees his battle wounds as weakness. He seems determined to ignore the strain they place on his breathing, particularly during the winter months." She turned to her lady's-maid. "Could you please draw a bath, Dara? I’ll take care of the rest.”

She watched as he glanced up from the path bellow, not quite as sheepishly as she would have liked, but she did see his shoulders relax at the sight of her. It had been weeks since he had left in a rage and still she was raw from the accusation he had made before they parted. They had never parted in anger before.

It had been a silly thing really that had begun their quarrel, the result of the weight of a kingdom upon their shoulders. Both were stubborn and fierce in spirit so neither would easily concede a disagreement.

She went back to their chamber where Dara was pouring water into the carven tub and waited. She knew him well. Now that his brother lived with Tauriel and not under the Mountain they would speak for some time at the stables about the outcome of their travels.

A short while later he shuffled into the chamber, and she could see his relief that the tub was filled. She imagined he was cold to the bone. His clothing seemed to weigh him down. 

Wordlessly she approached him and unhooked his fleece coat, pushing it from his shoulders and dropping it to the ground, and then she pulled free his shirt. He held up his arms as she dragged it over his head, his eyes on her the whole time. Her hands went to the fastening of his trousers and his head bent towards hers, but she turned her face away, though not before she caught the flash in his eyes. Then he stepped out of his clothing and climbed into the steaming water with a sigh of pleasure. Sigrid crouched beside him and her hands tugged his hair back.

                “If you ever walk out of this Mountain accusing me of placing Dale’s needs over Erebor’s, I’ll tear you apart, piece by piece.” She spoke quietly, her fingers tracing the intricate braids,

                A hand as quick as hers gripped her face. “And if you accuse me of placing my kingdom above my family, I will tear myself apart, piece by piece." His mouth was hard on hers but she matched his force until he let go, lifting a hand to trace her lips with his thumb. She gently pushed him back and tended to him. She rubbed a dripping cloth across his chest in slow circles so that the warmth of the water would reach and sooth his lungs. She could see his eyes on the opening of her shift that allowed him a glimpse of the curve of her body, ripe with their child. He reached to clench her garment in a fist. “Take it off,” he begged hoarsely. “Please.” 

She lifted in over her head and climbed into the tub, straddling his thighs as his hands wandered over her swollen belly. He pressed a kiss against it before taking her face between his hands, his mouth back on hers. She felt a hunger from him like never before, their mouths greedy for anything they could take, and when she moved above him, he thrust into her and she covered his mouth with her hand to stop his cries echoing across the quiet chamber to where their guards stood outside.

 

Later, they lay in each other’s arms in their bed. She pressed her lips against his chest, tracing a finger across a new bruise or two.

                “My queen…”

                “Yes, my king?”

                “I’m dying.” He groaned.

She laughed.

                “You’ve caught a chill because you weren’t wearing an undershirt, as I warned you before you left. Every year you catch the same chill and every year you are convinced that you are dying. It is a common cold, my love. It will pass.”

                “I’m speaking the truth. I am dying. My nose is red raw and my chest…” he made a wheezing sound. “It hurts. And you mock me, when all I need is your tender care.”

                “I’m surprised you didn’t go to your mother and have her fuss over you;  _her golden warrior.”_  She teased.

                His arms bound tightly around her. “If I spent one more night away from my wife I would have laid down and died.”

                The smile slipped from Sigrid's face as she traced the faded scars across his chest. “Let’s have no more talk of dying, my love. Not when we have so much more living to do.” She whispered.

                Fíli gazed deeply into her eyes and there were simply no words to convey what passed between them.

 

They heard a sound in the hallway, a childish babbling, and Sigrid saw Fíli’s face soften. Her heart sang to see his smile. Their son, Thráin, tottered into the room, eyes wandering, searching, and lighting up with joy when he saw his father. 

Fíli leapt out of bed and held out his arms, and Thráin ran to him. 

                “Da!” he said with delight, and Fíli pretended to collapse from the weight until they were lying beside Sigrid.

                “You’ve grown, little lion.” Fíli said as he ran his fingers through his son's blond tangles. “Is that hair is see on your chin?”

            “Da!” Thráin repeated emphatically, tugging at Fíli’s braided moustache.

Fíli chuckled. “I like the sound of Da.”

Sigrid frowned slightly. “He’s copying me; we visited my father while you were away.”

                “Tell me again why he is supposed to call us Fíli and Sigrid?”

                “In case anything happens to us,” Sigrid replied. “I read it in one of the chronicles of Dale to do with child-rearing. The more a child gets used to comfort terms, the more they will grieve if something happens to them. It’s the words they miss using.”

Thráin squeezed them both together, his little arms around both their necks, and he practiced his counting with a kiss to each cheek. 

                Fíli reached up to caress her cheek and spoke her own words back to her. "No talk of dying, my love. Not when we have so much more living to do."

Sigrid nodded and then laughed at Thráin’s antics and he kissed them both. 

Suddenly the three of them were knocked aside by a force beyond reckoning and she knew by the thunderous look on Fíli’s face that she’d have to explain the hound’s presence on the bed. The hound was a stray from the survivors of Laketown, a piece of her old home to accompany her to her new home. But nonetheless Fíli and Sigrid had previously agreed that he should not sleep on the bed.

                “We were all so sad while you were gone and he cried and cried for you,” she explained. “We all did.” She patted the dog.

                Fíli stared at her in disbelief. “Sigrid, he is a hound. He will feign loneliness for the rest of his life just to lie on this bed. My bed. I was the king of this bed.”

He was woeful, but at the sound of the dog’s snoring, Sigrid could see a ghost of a smile on his face.

She could hear already the world they had to tend to outside calling for them, but for now it was just the three of them… and the hound, and Sigrid understood that happiness came in such moments and she savoured it.

                

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based upon chapter 18 of Quintana of Charyn by Melina Marchetta, Book 3 of the Lumatere Chronicles. If you are looking for an amazing fantasy series that is very accessible then read these books!

**Author's Note:**

> Another song that spawned another Figrid oneshot in my mind. This one by Ed Sheeran: Photograph https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YYc9NPiVw7c
> 
> I like to put little references to some of my favourite stories and movies in all my writing, which makes it a bit like a scavenger hunt! This one has a bit of The Princess Bride, Pitch Perfect, Thumbelina, Harry Potter, and a tiny bit of Peter Pan.


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